If there was a god, I'm sure he would be hated,
for making bugs, this hell that was created.
Sit on a coat, put on a hat,
I am infested, it happens just like that.
I'm sure I hate 'em, there ain't no maybes,
bodylice & crabs, headlice & scabies.
You take your pick.
They make me sick.
Well, I'll scratch until I bleed,
so there'll be scabs for me to pick.
It drives me mad as I scratch my body raw,
sometimes it feels like sex when I'm scratching with my paws.
Sometimes it feels better, when it gets wetter;
lubed up with puss & blood... but later I'm upsetter.
'Cause of the pain when the rash becomes inflamed,
I simply lost control, the scabies can't be blamed.
Oh yes they can!
I'll go complain to the drop in center clinic,
hook me up with some lindane!
Oh yes lindane, the stuff for t
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